Finding a bowl of rice pudding outside of a Zora festival was exactly as difficult as Link's memory had predicted, and might have been altogether impossible for anyone else. Luckily, while Link wasn't royalty himself, befriending the Zora prince came with its own advantages.
Sidon's golden eyes had widened in surprise when Link mumbled out his strange request, but in surprisingly little time he had a steaming bowl of rice in Link's hands, kneeling beside him in demonstration as he showed Link how to hold just the curved base beneath the river's cool flow until it reached the perfect temperature for eating. Even one hundred years later, the smoky-sweet dish was exactly as Link remembered it, and the combined familiarity of food and company hit him with such force that he closed his eyes expectantly. Something so clearly a part of his past had to shake loose… something.
Still, though Link forced himself to eat slowly, rolling the last, creamy grains of rice over his tongue for almost a minute before swallowing, in the end, it was nothing more than a filling meal. No conclusion to the memory of that night with Zelda came rushing from the depths of his mind to overtake him, and though he knew that he must have eaten this with Mipha as a child, the details of that long ago day were as elusive as the moon—distant and foreign no matter how he tried to grasp them.
"You look disappointed," Sidon said, frowning as Link finally admitted defeat, handing him his empty bowl with quiet thanks. "Was the dish not to your liking? You practically licked it clean."
"It was delicious," Link assured him, smiling weakly and trying not to feel too crushed. "It's just… I guess I'd just hoped it would help me remember…"
Sidon's sympathetic look said that he understood, which he didn't, really.
Neither of them mentioned the newest beam of red light piercing out of the desert towards Hyrule Castle, though they both knew what it meant—what Link was supposed to be doing now that the last Divine Beast was free. Zelda couldn't hold back Ganon forever, he knew, though at the dawn of each new day he wondered uneasily… maybe one day more?
Link spent the week after Thunderblight Ganon's defeat jumping from place to place across Hyrule, seeking out the memories hinted at by pictures on his slate with a selfish determination that he hadn't dared give into with his fellow Champions imprisoned. He managed to track down most of them using the now-familiar shapes of mountains and lakes in the background to mark their location, and as he delved into the contents of his own mind, an increasingly clear portrait began to emerge—of Zelda.
Despairingly, Link realized that it made sense. If the princess had taken those pictures, then it stood to reason that the memories they held must include her somehow—and as he'd long since discovered, very little of his life as the princess's appointed knight had revolved around himself. In some ways, they provided Link with much needed assurance. At least he no longer wondered whether he'd been sent on a journey across Hyrule by someone who couldn't stand the sight of him.
That still didn't stop him from staring with wistful curiosity whenever a group of children came bursting out in front of him at a stable, laughing as they chased each other through the stalls, or when he watched a family seated together around a cookfire to share the evening meal. Link must have known something like that once. Even he couldn't have been born with legendary sword in hand—but memories from such a time wouldn't come from his slate.
Instead, Link grew creative. And desperate.
"That certainly is an… interesting proposition," the horned statue outside of Hateno said dryly once Link had finished explaining what he wanted. Its dark, resonant voice in Link's mind was as sinister as always, though today it sounded sinisterly bored. "However, I think I explained the nature of our arrangement quite clearly the first time we met. I am a dealer in life and power, not memories… or have you forgotten?"
"Could you do it, though?" Link asked through gritted teeth, already regretting his decision to come here. This couldn't be much better than what he wanted to avoid, but he was running out of options. The slate hadn't helped, and neither had the Zora. He'd even braved Purah's lab, feeling uncomfortably like an experiment beneath her analytical stare as he always did, and still he'd left with no solutions. "I have rupees. That's what you want, right?"
The horned statue said nothing, and Link tried not to fidget under its silent consideration.
"You're not the only one in Hyrule who makes deals, you know," he added, as if that might tip the scale in his favor. Still nothing. "I would just… prefer to work with you."
"I believe that you think I should be flattered," the statue said at last, sounding unimpressed. "Better the evil you know, is that it? Or maybe you find my price less onerous than what others demand. Rupees are a simple thing to give up, for all their value."
"I…" Link shrugged uncomfortably, unable to dispute any of it. "I just… thought we could help each other. Was I wrong?"
"Maybe you were. Maybe you weren't." Link stiffened, shuddering, as he felt a familiar darkness coil around his chest, gripping as if to tear out his beating heart. "Maybe I can touch your head as easily as your heart, though I can promise it wouldn't be… pleasant. If I demanded a price greater than rupees, would you pay it?"
Link licked his lips nervously. "What price?"
The grip on his chest tightened, and Link tried not to think about the first time he'd knelt curiously before this odd statue, when it had stolen a portion of his life unexpectedly from his chest. He could still remember that swaying sensation of weakness… of loss. How much could he afford to give up with his battle against Ganon still looming over him? As had been the case since an old man became the ghost of a king before his eyes and told him the story of his death, Link had more important people to worry about than just himself.
"...Heh." The pressure building in Link's chest vanished, and he blinked in surprise. "There is no deal between us. If you wish to increase your power, then come to me. For the rest, you must go to Ghirahim and pay his price. I know better than to take what is not mine."
"What?" Link said raggedly, realizing as he stumbled back that this was his first time hearing that name outside of its desert prison. "How did you—what makes you think—I don't belong to him!"
But the horned statue had gone silent, refusing to respond no matter how Link argued or pleaded. Kicking it earned him nothing more than a bruised toe, and eventually Link stormed off, defeated. The next morning, he woke up to his finger throbbing along with his foot and knew with dreadful certainty that his time had run out.
The Molduga was dead by noon, the desert sun beating down on Link as he packed up its usable parts. Distractedly, he thought that if nothing else, he might have a lucrative career as a Molduga hunter once all this was over—they really weren't that hard to kill now that he knew the trick of it—but for the most part, the massive beast he'd slain took up only a tiny portion of his thoughts.
Tonight, things were going to be different. Maybe he couldn't avoid the coming confrontation (maybe, a poisonous voice in his head whispered, he didn't want to), but at the very least he could walk there by himself without compulsion dragging him every step of the way.
Well before his limbs felt even a twitch towards Ghirahim's prison, Link was already traversing the underground tunnels, feverishly muttering the prepared terms of his bargain under his breath and barely aware of how his footsteps dragged along one moment only to dart forward eagerly the next. He just needed to be smart about this. Link knew how the game was played now. If nothing else, he would prove this time that he couldn't be taken advantage of so easily.
Heat from a fresh torch licked at his fingers, the flickering light and echoing footsteps condensing the world so strangely within the long, wavering passageway that Link felt lost within a memory already.
Raising up the heavy door at the tunnel's end, the sight of the diamond-tiled room and the sword within was what brought Link at last to an abrupt, shuddering halt, his foot frozen in the air just on the point of entering. Despite the nervous energy thrumming through him, he'd felt emboldened by the fact that he had never made this approach so well prepared, with both his clothing and his skin intact. Now, faced with the reality of that room and that sword, he felt almost naked, his dull attempts at preparation offering all the flimsy protection of a paper shield.
He was out of his depth here, wasn't he? He should turn back now, figure out a better plan, and—
—And a tug felt just behind Link's ribcage brought home the depths of his self-deception as he remembered that he wasn't exactly here of his own accord to begin with. Helpless, he stumbled forward, gritting his teeth when the door slammed shut behind him. He'd wanted to do that himself this time, to rob Ghirahim at the very least of the satisfied sense of shutting him in.
"I'm not cutting the final rope today," Link announced instead, jaw jutting forward along with his torch as his own words came crashing back over him in the enclosed space. In the back of his mind, he couldn't help but notice that the sharp click of a lock remained absent. Ghirahim didn't expect him to try to run tonight—and as much as he would have loved to prove Ghirahim wrong… "That's my first condition."
"Not terribly adept at starting conversations, are you?" Ghirahim said idly. "I should have expected as much." Legs propped out beside him, he might have been just caught in the act of lounging, though Link knew for a fact that a sword had sat in his place mere seconds before. A cursory sweep of dark eyes took Link in, the whole of him, and Ghirahim grinned. "You are a man obsessed."
The high flush of Link's cheeks deepened uncertainly, but he shook his head, refusing to be derailed. "My second condition–"
"I take it that you've decided to accept my offer, then?" Ghirahim interrupted, his words as nonchalant as his pose as Link cut off in frustration. He should have known that his own urgency would be all the incentive Ghirahim needed to take things tortuously slow. "My second offer, from the sound of it, though I'll remind you again of the abundant generosity of the first: every precious memory in your mind restored to its rightful place, for the negligible cost of snipping a few strings. Surely even your moth-eaten mind can see the value…"
But Link was already shaking his head in rote denial.
"One rope for one memory," he said. "Just like before."
"Your opportunity to choose otherwise is dwindling," Ghirahim warned lightly, twirling a finger around his chin in a thoughtful sort of way. "How many memories could you regain now without freeing me? Four, if you were feeling bold? Three, if not. Three fleeting moments in time held in balance with the entirety of your human life… and inexplicably, you tip the scales towards the three! You choose to wander by candlelight when you could walk by the light of the sun."
Link hesitated despite himself. He hadn't let himself consider it before, even for a moment. If he thought about it for too long, his traitorous thoughts would start to justify it, and– and then he might actually consider– but he couldn't, right?
"My second condition…"
"My freedom is inevitable, Link, but nothing to be afraid of," Ghirahim murmured, and even that soft redirection was enough to cut off Link's weak attempt at speech. "I'm no more eager to be your enemy than you are to have me as one. Why not gain what you can while you can, and we'll both emerge all the better for it? If it's going to happen either way…"
It made a certain kind of sense, Link agreed hazily, nodding now. Still, he couldn't shake his vague unease at how easily Ghirahim seemed able to follow his thoughts.
Following them… maybe guiding them?
As fast as the realization hit him, the sword that sealed the darkness was in Link's hands. Shadows jumped across the room as his discarded torch fell, clattering, to the floor.
"Don't," Link growled, leveling his sword towards Ghirahim's face—a pointless act, he knew by now, but it made him feel better. "Don't do that."
The hilt in his hands was a cool, if voiceless, presence, clearing the haze from his mind—but not quite the fever. It could only erase Ghirahim's influence, after all, not the heated maelstrom that was Link's alone*.*
"Is that your second condition?" Ghirahim asked idly. If he was disappointed that Link had caught on so quickly, he didn't show it, meeting Link's glare with a wisp of a grin.
"No," Link muttered. Should it be? Shaking his head did nothing to clear it. "I mean—"
"Because if you've drawn up a list, I think I'm entitled to a few of my own—the first of which is that I will not be treated as some magical trifle that you can con out of wishes. If you insist on seeing me as such, then I'm afraid I will be forced to treat you as one in kind." A single, raised finger made the warning clear despite his pleasant smile, shriveling the retort on the tip of Link's tongue. "In this lifetime or another, I will be free, though you do your future self no favors by denying me now. Why, leave me hanging on the edge for too long, and I might even be… cross… when next our threads intertwine."
Then again, maybe that upturn of lips did have a cruel cast to it.
"That's my future self's problem, then," Link said shortly. "Not mine."
"Your most recent self did you no favors, either," Ghirahim informed him, his dark gaze fixing Link in place. "How does the saying go again? Those who don't learn from the past are bound to repeat it?"
He didn't elaborate beyond that, arching his arms elaborately in a shivering stretch above his head. It couldn't have been more clear that Link was supposed to ask—so Link didn't, smothering his curiosity and stooping to retrieve the fallen torch, slamming it too forcefully in the niche by the doorway. His past self hadn't done him many favors in general, as far as Link could tell. Nothing that hadn't already backfired horribly.
Behind him, Ghirahim settled more comfortably across the ground, arranging the points of his cloak across diamond tiles in perfect, radiating lines. He had ample space to do so now with so many ropes missing, even if the ones that remained still kept him from standing at his full height. Something about the image struck Link as odd, though he couldn't put a finger on what.
"You will not cut the final rope," Ghirahim announced suddenly, and Link cursed himself for jumping. "A failsafe, no doubt, in case things don't go according to your plans… but if I may be the one to say it, a rather flimsy one. You must know how easy it would be for me to coax a single slice out of you upon our next meeting."
Link said nothing. As much as he hated to think he'd learned anything from Ghirahim, keeping his plans to himself this time struck him as simply good advice.
Unfortunately, it appeared that Ghirahim was capable of pulling the entirety of his intentions out of thin air anyway.
"You don't expect to see me again after tonight," Ghirahim said, delighted amusement creasing the one eye visible from beneath his pale sweep of hair. "Once my master is gone, the blood moons will presumably end, releasing you from your somewhat inconvenient… situation. Your plan is to gain all you can from me now, offer up as little in payment as possible, and then leave me to my dreadfully lonely fate. You do want what I have to offer, though. Desperately." Ghirahim relished the word with a hiss. "Of course, judging by the state of you, I think we will meet at least once more. You are not yet ready to defeat my master."
The air vacated Link's lungs in a startled huff, his worst fear spoken aloud striking him with almost physical force.
"What makes you say that?" he snapped, hoping it didn't show in his voice.
"Just look at yourself." Ghirahim's voice had turned pitying, gaze flicking across Link's face as if to read his every thought, and his next words didn't help. "I'm sure you know how to swing that so-called sword, but that's only half the battle, isn't it? The rest is in your mind… and speaking as someone who's recently been poking around, it's a mess up there. As if that wasn't enough," he continued with smug satisfaction, overriding Link's attempts to interrupt him, "you're wearing red."
"What?"
Link looked down at his outfit, feeling ragged as the conversation took yet another unexpected turn. He'd spent more time than he would ever admit deciding what to wear that night, the memory of Ghirahim's heated gaze and suggestive words still fresh in his mind. The worn burgundy of his plain Hylian tunic had felt nondescript enough to avoid drawing comment, but of course Ghirahim had somehow managed to pull meaning from it anyway.
"What does that have to do with–"
"It is sometimes the most insignificant details that remain nevertheless the most consistent over time," Ghirahim said cryptically, leaning back as if the matter was settled. "If you do not yet know what I mean, then you are not yet ready. It's as simple as that. Will you risk the world as you know it on the off-chance that I'm wrong?"
Link's knuckles were white against the hilt of his sword, which made the vague sense of unease gnawing at the back of his mind now Link's alone. He had defeated every Blight and freed every Champion. He had the sword that seals the darkness. Zelda thought he was ready, her voice echoing through his mind for the first time in months as the final red beam from Vah Naboris raced across the sky. Ghirahim was just trying to worm his way under Link's skin—to buy himself more time to escape. He had to be.
Wearing red…
"Where did you get that cloak?" Link asked abruptly, finally noticing what had changed.
Ghirahim glanced up at him over the edge of the strange crimson garment adorning his shoulders, a light smile curving his lips.
"What, this old thing?" A flick of his finger set the golden chain clasp jingling faintly, and Link fought back a flinch. "It's not much, but it is… familiar. Why, I almost feel like my old self again. Almost." That same finger dug pointedly beneath the collar around his neck where the remaining ropes still bound him. "You mentioned having conditions…?"
Breathing in deeply, Link resolved to worry about it later, if at all—though something about the appearance of that cloak unnerved him. Harmless though it was on the surface, Ghirahim still seemed to get some part of himself back with every bond broken. The jagged, angular line where pale skin clashed with dark hovered further down Ghirahim's arms now, approaching slim, articulate wrists as if to push blackened skin out through his fingers, and even that felt somehow precarious—not shifting before Link's eyes, exactly, but shimmering on the cusp of movement. Would two ropes be enough?
"You are staring," Ghirahim hummed in satisfaction. Link's gaze jerked back to Ghirahim's face, his own cheeks reddening.
"One rope per memory, just like before," he repeated roughly. He had never struggled to stay focused in battle, so why did his mind insist on wandering here, where he needed it most? "But it has to be a whole memory! Don't cut it short on purpose or anything. And it should be something important, not just… I don't know… eating breakfast."
"Ahhh." Ghirahim shrugged, an elaborate gesture. "I'm afraid that you've stumbled into the realm of subjectivity, though I can certainly do my best. Now, if you're asking me not to sabotage the process—"
"I'm not just asking," Link said, squaring his shoulders. If Ghirahim had the chance to pick apart every aspect of their bargain, he'd almost certainly pick it to pieces. "It's a condition, not a request."
"And if I refuse?" Though he didn't shift a muscle, Ghirahim's single-eyed gaze intensified to the point that Link struggled to hold it.
"No ropes."
The tension stretched. Link resisted the urge to bounce on his heels.
"Any other… conditions?" Ghirahim asked.
"Just one," Link said carefully. "Any memories you unlock have to be mine, from this life, unaltered. Not yours, not… changed somehow by you… and not from any of the previous heroes."
The heavy tension pricked like a noxious bubble with Ghirahim's delighted laugh.
"Oh, you rascal!" he said, warm and… almost proud? Link felt a confused flush warm his cheeks. "You've put some effort into this, haven't you? Forethought was never your goddess-given strength by any means, which makes it all the more a treat whenever it manifests."
"I'm not…" He'd been right to specify, Link realized with the uneasy thrill of someone who had just watched an arrow graze past their face. Ghirahim wanted Link to make the connection that the captive man himself couldn't seem to keep from making, looking fondly through Link as always towards some other long-dead hero. It was all he could do not to hunch in on himself in a futile attempt to hide. "Do you accept my terms or not?"
"I see nothing amiss," Ghirahim agreed, almost suspiciously amenable. Link immediately started wracking his brain for what he might have missed. "Of course, this will not work at all unless you sheathe your sword."
Link's eyes narrowed incredulously, the tip of that sword scraping the ground as he adjusted his grip. "No."
"Come now, Link." Nothing about Ghirahim's amused expression changed that Link could put words to, but his own stance still shifted warily. "Surely you don't expect to cling to it through memory's grip?"
"I'll manage," Link said stubbornly.
"So distrustful," Ghirahim sighed, shaking his head so his sleek hair danced regretfully—as if he had not attempted such deceit only minutes before, Link thought, incensed. "Yet as I said before, this will not work otherwise! It is not a condition, but a necessity."
Link bit his lip, determination wavering. If Ghirahim was lying, Link still had no way of proving it—and if he wasn't…
"No… tricks," Link warned, swinging the sword over his shoulder slowly. "That is a condition."
"Yes, fine. I'll add it to the list," Ghirahim said impatiently. "The exchange is well worth it if I am spared the displeasure of looking at her."
Despite his professed distaste, Ghirahim's hard gaze followed the sword all the way into its sheath. Her?
"Now, if that's everything…" Ghirahim's fingers unfurled in a ripple towards Link, one right after the other. "Do we finally have a deal?"
Link froze, all else slipping from his mind on a wave of eager trepidation as he realized that days of frenzied searching had abruptly reached their culminating moment. All he had to do now was let Ghirahim into his mind once more.
"Deal," Link said, the word creaking on its way out—not loud, but it still filled the too-small space of the room around them as the agreement was sealed. If he hadn't thought of everything, Link still hoped he'd thought of enough.
"Oh, where has all that heroic resolve flown off to?" Ghirahim's laugh was a throaty sound, and where only the moment before he'd been splayed across the ground, now a single step forward carried him into Link's space. His outstretched hand flipped at the wrist, pressing against Link's chest. "Your fretful heart is fluttering like a bird."
Whether those last uttered words came from outside Link's head or within it, he couldn't tell, a feeling made all the more disconcerting by its familiarity. That horrific shuffling sensation as Ghirahim slipped inside to card through the contents of Link's mind struck him with the same dreadful sense of recognition. It made Link wish he could back away to where Ghirahim, bound by his ropes, couldn't reach him—but that had never been an option, had it? Time was passing him by, with no way of knowing whether too much remained or too little.
"Any requests?" Ghirahim asked, looming over Link despite the hunch his bonds forced on him. "Something particular you have in mind?"
Link's eyes squinted warily, part surprise, part trepidation. "You can do that?"
"Nothing too specific," Ghirahim warned him, putting to rest both the worst of Link's fears and his wildest hopes. "Still, if you have a general sense of what you desire…"
"I…" Link averted his gaze. Focusing on anything with Ghirahim invading his mind like this felt like swimming through a bog, but he'd had plenty of opportunity to think about it over the last few, fevered days. He just hated having to admit to it out loud, especially in front of him. "Something from before… something that has nothing to do with being a hero."
"Yes," Ghirahim mused after a moment, the soft word still thrumming beneath Link's skull. "You are rife with heroic memories already, aren't you? With your utter lack in every other area, Hylia has perhaps never had such a complete hero."
Something almost like pity flickered across Ghirahim's face—though with the next words out of his mouth, Link decided he must have imagined it.
"Unfortunate for you, then, that it was merely a request and not one of your conditions."
Realization struck Link a full second too late for him to actually do anything about it, though his eyes had time enough to widen.
"Wait, don't—"
And he was in dark freefall, a resounding 'crack' echoing through the confines of his mind as something unseen snapped brusquely into place, and then…
Link was going to be in trouble.
He knew it, even as he followed whatever the strange thing was that guided him—the wooden, imp-like creature that had laughed at him from the periphery of his vision ever since arriving here that nobody else could see.
Of course, it didn't take much to get Link in trouble now, though his father had warned him ahead of time that this might be the case. The captain of the military training camp had made it his personal mission to demonstrate to Link that he would get no special treatment despite his skill and family connections, and the growing list of minor "infractions" Link had committed that other trainees got away with easily had Link occupied from sunup to sundown with extra training and chores. That was what had Link out chopping wood before dawn in the first place when the little imp popped out from the treetops, chirping for him to follow.
In Link's defense, he hadn't realized where the creature was leading him until he was already knee-deep in fog, but he knew by now how little that would matter. What he didn't know was what his ultimate punishment might be if he got caught. This was no minor infraction. Everyone knew that the strange, misty forest north of camp had been declared off-limits to trainees and soldiers alike: unmapped, unexplored, and potentially dangerous.
Link followed anyway, curiosity stronger than any vague fear of repercussions. Who knew what might lay at the end of a path such as this?
"Wait!" he called out to where the mist swirled ahead of him with laughter, dodging doggedly after it. Link had seen these little forest imps before, many times, though this was the first time he'd heard one speak. They'd always liked to hide in the woods outside the village, laughing in delight whenever Link found one before vanishing in a burst of leaves and sweet smoke. Nobody aside from Link had ever seen them then, either, and Aryll had accused him of playing tricks. If this was his chance to unravel the mystery of these creatures…
"Come and find me!" came the cry in response, and childlike giggles echoed in all directions, the mist rising as if to overtake Link before ebbing away. Was it one mischievous imp he chased or a chain of them, laughing and vanishing in turns, leading him along?
Leading him… where?
Anxiety stirred in Link's chest at last, and he wished he hadn't dropped his axe. The wind rushing past his ears seemed almost to push him along, always at his back no matter which direction he ran, and if he stared at any of the trees for too long, they started to look concerningly like gaping mouths. The creature—creatures?—guiding him had always seemed more childlike than malicious when he'd found them before, but if their mischief left him stranded in the middle of a forest with no weapon and no clear way to wander…
His high-pitched panting rang loud in his own ears.
Then something in the air shifted, the wind and mist fading away together as the path widened beneath his feet, and Link's pounding steps slowed. His mouth fell open slowly.
The first rays of dawn fell across an overgrown clearing that felt warm and green after all that blue, otherworldly mist. Softly pink fairies flitted past twirling vines and enormous seed pods heavy with verdant growth, and in the branches of trees laden with leaves and blossoms…
"You found us!" the little forest creatures cheered from all around Link, hopping up and down with glee. Craning his neck with a dazed expression, Link thought he must have found all of them. Gathered in the treetops, hovering on little, leafy propellers, and stumbling along with Link's footsteps were more of those wooden imps than Link would ever have guessed existed, chattering and laughing together in an indistinct hum that so completely captured the spirit of childlike joy that Link couldn't have stopped the laughter that burst out of him if he wanted to.
Then something caught his eye, shining, sticking up out of the stone, and the laughter vanished from his heart as if pulled from it, replaced by… wonder? Recognition?
Purpose?
Not until his hands were wrapped around the hilt did Link consciously recognize it as a sword, its winged crossguard flaring out from his two-handed grip. Sized for someone slightly larger than he was, Link struggled a bit to stand tall enough to pull it out, though it still slid from the stone more easily than he would have expected. Examining the blade in awe—he'd never seen its like, even on the royal guards, even in the hands of his father—Link felt something slot into place in his heart, deep, where he could just barely sense it… and the whisper of a voice he couldn't make out, similarly out of reach. Light gleamed along its edges as if it recognized him in turn.
"Hero chosen by the goddess…"
In all his preoccupation with the sword, Link had failed to notice the giant tree. The tip of the blade brushed the ground as his head whipped up in alarm, and before his eyes, the aging bark creaked and snapped in sheets to form a withered, kindly face that chuckled at his gaping expression.
"I thought it must be you," the tree rumbled in an impossibly deep voice that he heard almost more through his legs than his ears. "I apologize for the antics of my little korok children. They do love to play, and so few have the sight to see them anymore."
Link nodded weakly, feeling like he should say something, but not at all certain under these circumstances what he should say. His eyes darted from the tree, to the koroks, to the sword in his hand—a question that maybe didn't require words as levity faded from the tree's expression.
"I have felt it for some time now… the first rumblings of malice, deep within the earth." The great tree sighed, and the sound of it was a soft gust of wind rustling hundreds of leaves. "You must have felt it, too, to awaken so early to your calling."
Calling? For the first time since drawing the sword, unease flickered across Link's heart, and he held the blade up to examine it again. True to the tree's words, he had felt… something. Something that left him twisting in his covers late at night.
"Yes, Link—" Link started at hearing his own name, which he hadn't given. "—It is your destiny to carry that sword and, alongside the princess of light, seal the darkness away once more. You are young still to bear it… but there have been younger."
The pit of Link's unease grew wider, his blue eyes shifting uncertainly back to the tree's face. The crease of its wooden brow was regretful—and unyielding. This was something to be mourned, with nothing to be done.
"Yes. Oh, yes… there have been younger."
His face withered further, fading, falling away until…
"One memory in exchange for one bond cut, as promised."
By the time Link became fully conscious of his surroundings, the burnished red of firelit tiles all the more jarring after the forest's greens and blues, the familiar dark knife was already in Link's hands. A few swift strokes cut the rope, and pressure eased from Link's chest as Ghirahim's touch withdrew, standing perhaps another inch taller now with one more bond's removal.
"A full and complete memory, mind you, pertinent to your present life and unaltered by myself." Ghirahim reminded him of his own conditions with an all-too-knowing grin, as if well aware of the objections clamped behind Link's lips. At the same time, the dagger vanished in diamond-shaped wisps from Link's hand. Maybe he also knew exactly where Link wanted to throw it. "Are you not satisfied?"
Link swallowed. "You…"
His voice shook, but not entirely out of anger, or even due to Ghirahim at all. Though he had agreed not to, the temptation to draw his sword and examine it again was strong. How old could he have been during that memory? Fourteen, maybe? Twelve? Still mostly a child, whatever his age—though never a child again after that night.
At least he finally had that single word out of his own mouth, Link thought with bitter lack of mirth.
"If you were just going to ignore what I wanted, then why did you pretend to let me choose?" Link finally managed to ask. He couldn't complain, really—or he wouldn't have if he hadn't thought he had a choice in what he saw—it was an important memory returned to him, and one he'd wondered about many times—but Ghirahim had asked.
"Such a dour expression," Ghirahim tutted with gratingly false sympathy, one hand raised as if to brush the hair from Link's eyes. Link very nearly fell over backwards in his haste to get away. "Frowns all around, as one might say… not that I can blame you. That particular memory was practically drenched in her presence."
One dark, venomous eye slid past Link's face to where the hilt of Link's sword jutted out.
"Why did you ask?" Link demanded this time, glaring now.
"Was the moment you claimed her as dramatic as you might have hoped?" Ghirahim persisted, something dark tightening his smile. "Filled with the proper gravitas, I assume? It always is. The beings that control your fate have a flair for the dramatic."
Link's hands became fists. "Why—"
"Don't take it so personally," Ghirahim sighed, venom vanishing all at once as he shook his head in apparent exasperation. "You are attempting to play the short game, Link, while I intend to play the long. It is only natural for you to desire immediate satisfaction, while, with four ropes left to slice, it's in my interest to leave you… wanting." His lips curled upward. "Of course, if I withhold what you want too thoroughly, I risk losing you altogether—so you can be assured that this time, I'll play nice."
The hand Ghirahim extended towards him with a wink was an obvious invitation, and Link glared at that, too.
"Maybe you've lost me already," he snapped. "If I can't trust you to do what you say you will, then what's the point—"
Ghirahim's hand was in Link's hair, pulling back painfully, and Link's startled jerk of surprise did nothing to loosen his grip. He hadn't realized that Ghirahim could even reach him where he stood.
"I held to my end of the deal with exactness," Ghirahim hissed, grip tightening on that last word, and Link couldn't quite bite back a grunt of pain. "You simply failed to extract any further agreement before plunging recklessly on, unthinking, as you always do. The fact that you play the game poorly has no bearing on my honesty—and as I've told you once before, Link, I always tell the truth where you're concerned."
"And what makes me so special?" Link rasped, his neck starting to ache in earnest now—and blinked in surprise as the pain eased somewhat, Ghirahim's grip on his hair loosening. The angle of his head moved a fraction, offering Link a rare glimpse into both cavernous eyes, and without lessening in the slightest, the heat in Ghirahim's voice shifted to become… something else.
"What, indeed?"
Taken aback, Link licked his lips unthinkingly, and watched in stunned disquiet as Ghirahim mirrored the gesture in a more… elaborate… manner. Heat flooded his face as he remembered unwillingly what Ghirahim had said before about some of his past incarnations. Lies, surely—though Ghirahim had just told him that with Link, he never…
"Promise me, then," Link said, grateful that his voice, at least, was steady. "I want to hear you say that you'll give me what I asked for."
"To the best of my knowledge and ability, the next memory I retrieve for you will be everything you want and more," Ghirahim almost crooned, and Link wondered if it was possible to get whiplash from his lightning-quick shift in emotions. "Do you trust me now?"
"No," Link said, even as he closed his eyes in reluctant surrender—and anticipation. Three ropes… that would be enough, right?
Behind closed eyes, Link could still feel Ghirahim's grin, slipping inside Link's skull, rifling through his past, voice echoing both in and outside of Link's head.
"Smart boy."
A snap, a drop, and then…
"So, you think you have what it takes to join the Big Bad Bazz Brigade?"
Link grinned to himself quietly, creeping over one of Zora's Domain's many platforms to peer down at the scene playing out below. Bright sunlight glinted off the domain's many pools, making the finer details difficult to pick out, but Link could still make out its broader strokes: Bazz, standing alone atop blue stone steps, while a handful of Zora children looked up at him from the water. From the slow way he paced, Link thought Bazz was going for an air of solemnity, though the excited waggle of the overlarge fin atop his head gave the game away.
"You already said I could join," a girl called up to Bazz, unimpressed. A new recruit, then. "Why are you being so weird about this?"
"Gaddison!" Bazz stopped pacing, clearly frustrated. "I told you, this is serious. You need to take this seriously."
A chorus of "yeah!" from the other children was enough to quell her annoyance, it seemed, because she offered no further objections.
"Besides, you're not really a member until you know the secret password!" Bazz said, spurred on by his support to gesture dramatically. Link tensed, readying himself to spring. "Are you ready to learn it? It's fluffy white clouds, clear blue—"
"ZORA!" Link cried as loud as he could, leaping down from above and gathering his limbs into a ball. The gathered children had only a startled second to look up in alarm before he'd landed in their midst, water splashing over them in waves.
The ensuing chaos more than made up for the sharp sting of his landing.
"What was that?!"
"Is that a Hylian?"
"Link!" Bazz said. Shaking wet hair from his eyes and treading water, Link could see Bazz looking down at him in shock, his expression torn hilariously between excitement and outrage. "It's not a secret password if you go yelling it out like that for everyone to hear!"
"That was the password?" Gaddison said, nose scrunched in disapproval. "It should have been clear blue skies, or water. Clear blue Zora doesn't make any sense."
"That's what makes it so perfect," Rivan insisted earnestly from beside her. "If it doesn't make sense, then nobody will ever guess what it is."
"He guessed it," Gaddison said, pointing at Link. Pulling himself out of the water, Link grinned back at her, wishing his teeth were half as sharp.
"I came up with it," he said proudly, throwing an arm around Bazz's neck.
Bazz returned the gesture, leaning in towards Link while the other kids began debating the merits of that and alternative passwords.
"I didn't know you were coming!" Bazz said excitedly. "How long is your father stationed here?"
"Just a couple weeks," Link said, only halfway regretful. His mother had still not quite recovered from Aryll's birth, sick in some way that he didn't understand but that she assured him was nothing, and his father had negotiated a shorter term of duty because of it. As eager as Link had been to get back here, he had to admit that he kind of missed Aryll's babbling hugs. "He says we might be back again later this summer."
Bazz slumped forward in disappointment, then brightened. "At least you'll be here for the festival this weekend!"
Link's grip on Bazz's shoulder tightened suddenly, an unholy fire burning behind his eyes.
"You'll give me your share of rice pudding?" Link said seriously, and Bazz nodded.
"As long as you train me every day in the sword," he promised, his voice just as solemn.
"Then our pact is sealed."
The two stared at each other, lips writhing, until Link was the first to break, leaning forward with peals of laughter that Bazz joined him in seconds later. Eventually managing to catch his breath, Link looked up at the waterfalls surrounding the Domain and smiled. It was good to be back.
"You could have broken an arm falling down from there, you know," Bazz said, craning his own head back to look up to where Link had jumped from. "What were you thinking?"
"That Mipha would heal me," Link shrugged, finally pulling back from Bazz to inspect himself for damage. Nothing seemed too badly hurt, though his reddened skin still stung where he'd struck the water.
Bazz sighed at him, still grinning. "She always does."
Link blinked himself out of the memory, not dragged or dropped but hazily aware of the diamond-tiled room swimming into focus around him. Maybe he was finally getting the hang of this… or maybe for the first time, he'd retrieved a memory that didn't end in such a way that he felt wrong-footed.
Ghirahim's face swam into existence alongside it all, and even that was less objectionable than it might have been. At some point, Ghirahim's grip had slipped from Link's hair to hold his hand with surprising care, and Link thought that the strangely soft smile on Ghirahim's thin lips might reflect his own.
"Better?" Ghirahim asked knowingly, and Link nodded, though it took him a few more seconds to find his voice.
"Yeah," Link said at last. "That was…"
It was exactly what he'd needed, he realized. Hearing the stories about his old self from others was one thing, but actually seeing it… the depth of Link's relief surprised even himself. Memories or not, he really was who he had always been… was maybe even more himself now than that silent knight from more recent memories. The potential for that man still lived inside Link, of course, but he was not the whole of him, and surely not an inevitability. How could Link ever have reached that point in the first place?
There was more that he wanted, of course—especially now, with the new mysteries his mind had presented him. Aryll had felt important in both memories, though Link still couldn't put a face to the name. His own father was similarly nothing but a vague presence in his mind, with his mother almost absent entirely… but this could be enough. Remembering anything that came before his heroic calling was enough to maintain his hope in whatever came next.
"That much better?" Ghirahim laughed, a soft sound of amusement, and his thumb circled once around Link's palm. "I can be generous when I'm in the mood. Are we ready for the next one?"
Sharp awareness doused Link's haze of contentment like icy water on a flame, his eyes snapping open as he remembered too late (how had he forgotten?) just who held his hand. True to his word, Ghirahim had shown him exactly the sort of memory he had promised—once Link had pinned Ghirahim so far down that even he couldn't wriggle free. He had also dragged Link back here over and over, pushed him one way and pulled him another, and laughed at him all the while. Though he claimed to no longer serve the beast, he still gained his strength from Ganon and called him "master"—
And he might not take no for an answer.
Link's eyes flicked across the remaining bonds, each in quick succession. Four of them remained—no, three. A black knife had shimmered into existence in Link's free hand, moving to slice the agreed upon rope. When it vanished, he was left shaky and sweaty-palmed, his connection to Ghirahim through the other hand still unbroken.
Ghirahim's head tilted to the side in clear, unspoken question.
Three bonds held him now, and that… that felt safe. The thought of two bonds felt too much like something teetering, and one… under other circumstances, Link might be tempted, but he couldn't take selfish risks with his battle against Ganon so close at hand. Three felt right.
Except he'd timed it all wrong. The blood moon was not yet approaching its peak, the air still free of any hints of malice, and unless Link found a way to sneak a peek at the Sheikah Slate, he had no way of knowing how long they had left until it rose. Would Ghirahim retaliate if Link refused another deal? Could Link stall him for long enough to make such a deal impossible?
"Maybe," Link hedged weakly. "Just give me a minute to…"
It wasn't going to work. It might never have worked, but certainly not when Ghirahim had just watched the truth of his intentions play out across his face like a story.
"Of course," Ghirahim breathed. "I see that I have left you too soon satisfied, after all." His grip on Link's hand didn't tense, exactly, or even tighten. "It is not your fault, Link. This is what comes of me being… soft."
"I…" Subtly, Link tried to pull free, and found that he couldn't withdraw by even an inch. "I think I might be… done. For the night."
Link had never heard a silence that dripped before, like honey rolling slowly down a hive. Praying for the first motes of malice to appear—wondering if the goddess could even grant such a prayer—he prepared to draw his sword wrong-handed in the more likely scenario without divine intervention.
"Three binds left restraining me," Ghirahim mused, so quietly that the words might have been for himself. "A rather timid number. Have you so little faith in the magic that contained me for millennia?"
"I can't…" Link hadn't expected to feel guilty. After all, what might Ghirahim do, if free, to tip the scales in Ganon's favor? What might Ghirahim do, if free, to Link himself?
It still didn't change the image of the bound man in front of him, or the knowledge that Link would leave him there, again.
"No… on the eve of your life's greatest battle, the last thing you need is some loose thread pulled taut for you to trip on," Ghirahim said shrewdly. Unnerved again by how closely the observation mirrored his own thoughts, Link tried and failed once more to pull away. "It is simply my misfortune that our paths should cross when you are at your most duty-bound… and your most boring."
"I'm sorry," Link said helplessly, not sure what else to say—and could have sworn he felt the temperature plunge despite the ruby on his forehead.
"Well," Ghirahim said. "As long as you are… sorry."
Link had one black moment to wonder if he'd said something wrong. Then the world dissolved into darkness, the ground falling out beneath him. An ominous 'crack' echoed through his mind, and…
Link stared at his own reflection, adjusting again the blue cap that kept trying to fall too far down his head. He hadn't needed the seamstress's exasperated tutting to guess that he was the smallest by far to ever wear the armor of the royal guard, but while she'd managed to alter the tunic itself and even procured the proper boots, the uniform's cap was still a smidge too big. His first action in a fight would probably be to toss the thing altogether.
The same ribbon-wrapped hilt as always jutted up above Link's shoulder. At least the sword fit him better than it once had.
"My son… the princess's own appointed knight."
Link glanced in the mirror at where his father stood behind him in his own regalia, spoiled only by the wooden cane that he leaned on heavily now. He'd gone the entirety of Link's initiation ceremony stubbornly without it, which Link knew his father would pay for over the coming weeks with crippling pain. He had caught his father staring more than once that day, his expression less decipherable the more time passed… but he could hear the pride in his father's voice and clung to that, at least.
"Looks like you're all settled in now," his father continued gruffly. "Don't suppose there's reason for us to linger any further."
"You could," Link said, hating how high his voice sounded. "Aryll… would probably like to see…"
Leaning forward, Link's father laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, and the suggestion faded into nothing. He'd known they couldn't really stay longer, anyway—not with the farm at home for them to care for. Still, showing Aryll around Castle Town had been by far the highlight of this whole experience. She so rarely ever got to leave Hateno Village, and had quite nearly dragged Link down the streets in her excitement to see everything.
"You have worries in your head, son," his father said, and Link bit his lip. "Anyone can see it, and nobody would blame you for having them. Still, while you're here…" He leaned over Link's ear, voice lowering. "Keep them to yourself."
Link blinked up at him uncertainly. "Father?"
"The girl who it is your duty to guard has the fate of the kingdom on her shoulders," his father said solemnly. "The last thing she needs is for you to add your burden to hers. In fact…" His hand clapped against Link's shoulder again as he straightened, voice rising back to normal. "If you're not sure what to say, for now it might be best to say nothing at all. It'll take some time for you to get a handle on how things work in court, and the easiest way to not misstep is sometimes not to step at all, right?"
A blonde tornado launched herself from Link's bed to wrap tight arms around his neck, knocking his hat once more askew.
"You'll write to us every week, right?" Aryll said, her voice muffled against his chest. "Every day, if you can! I'm sure the postman won't mind."
"He's going to be busy, Aryll," their father chided her, but gently, and Link cracked his first smile of the day as he hugged his sister tightly. "Your brother is going to make Hyrule and his family proud."
Aryll huffed to show exactly what she thought of all that, and Link's smile deepened—but even as he held her, his mind was somewhere else. Say nothing at all… He thought he just might take that advice to heart. It was easy enough to follow—cut and dry, something he couldn't possibly mess up. Maybe nobody would notice his youth too much if they couldn't hear it on his voice.
He'd just have to let his sword do the talking for him from now on. Unlike Link's words, his weapon had never failed him yet.
"You were wise, in the end, to set a limit." Ghirahim's voice rang above the swirl of Link confusion, piercing through both ears and mind. "If my continued captivity is your design, you have assured that much, at least. You will not cut the final rope… but the deal made beyond that was one rope for one memory, with no need for your continued assent."
The dagger was in Link's hand and out of it before he had the presence of mind to notice, another rope snapping and rebounding into nothing, blackened fingers catching up his wrists again like shackles. Struggling did nothing to loosen that grip.
"Far be it from me to understand why you would wish to remember what you have lost, but if that's truly your heart's desire, who am I to deny you the deepest of pain?"
"Don't—"
But it was already dark. He was already falling.
"I don't know why you even bothered coming home to begin with," Aryll snapped, bucket of feed slung over one arm as she glared back at him. "We're getting by just fine without your help. It's not like you have any fun stories to tell these days, anyway."
Link followed his sister silently, ducking into the coop after her with a pitchfork held up against his own shoulder. Aryll looked older than he remembered, which maybe shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did. Then again, maybe it was the worried creases lining her eyes that felt so out of place on his sister's young face. He remembered those same lines on his mother, dimly, and more clearly now on the princess herself. Link had never seen them before on vibrant, carefree Aryll.
"You only talk to the princess now, is that it?" Aryll said, whirling suddenly to face him. "Are you too good for all of us in Hateno? I never expected you of all people to come home putting on airs like some kind of lord, but maybe that tunic's gone to your head."
"Aryll," a rough voice said reproachfully behind them. Turning, Link found his father leaning against the door to the coop, weight kept carefully on his good leg. Link tried not to think about how much older he looked, too. "I've told you already to leave your brother in peace. He came all this way to help us."
Link shrugged a shoulder to say he didn't mind either way, but Aryll flared up.
"Fine! If Link wants to help out so bad, then he can feed the girls." Shoving the bucket of feed against a startled Link's chest, Aryll stormed out the doorway past him, careful even in her anger not to brush up against their father's old injury. "It's really the least he could do."
Watching her go, Link thought he should feel sorry, or annoyed, or even resentful. Somehow, the only feeling he could summon up was tired.
"She loves feeding her girls," Link's father said, shaking his head in exasperation. "Better leave that bucket right where you are, Link. She'll never forgive you otherwise, whatever she says."
Nodding, Link lowered the bucket to the ground, hefting the pitchfork instead to turn over the cuccos' bedding—and stopped when his father limped forward.
"You've been hard at work already, haven't you?" he said, looking Link up and down. His eyes lingered disapprovingly where hay stuck out of Link's tunic, evidence of the work he'd done already with the cows. "You shouldn't do all that in your Champion's tunic. It disgraces the royal blue."
Link's first instinct was indignation—his family's livelihood couldn't possibly disgrace any outfit he chose to wear—but his father's raised hand forestalled any further reaction he might have had.
"Your tunic and sword are symbols, Link. They're something for people to look towards and feel hope. What hope can they possibly have in a tunic stained by manure and covered in hay—or a hero who wears such things?" He snorted. "Might as well use that sword to chop our firewood while you're at it."
Resentment fading, Link picked a bit of straw from a seam self consciously. He hadn't actually been working in the manure yet, but still… maybe before he did, he could change into something else.
"My boy," his father sighed, clapping a hand on Link's shoulder. "I know you worry about us out here, but your duty lies elsewhere, and I fear that your concern is becoming a distraction. I think…" He hesitated for just a moment, then carried on. "It might be better if you… didn't come home. Not until all this is over."
Link stiffened beneath his father's hand, heart pounding suddenly.
"We're doing just fine," his father assured him softly. "Even Aryll is, trust me. We have the whole village looking out for us, along with what you send each week from the castle. Much as it comforts me to see your face… letters will do for now." He cracked a half-hearted grin. "Do your duty to Hyrule like I raised you to do, and all of Hateno will give you a welcome home the likes of which you'll never forget, I'm sure. In the meantime, Princess Zelda's side is where you belong."
Link chewed his lip, helpless dread turning his stomach into knots. He'd looked forward to these rare visits home as a brief chance at relief from the pressures of the castle… but maybe his father was right. He couldn't afford anything that might distract him from his duty.
Unable to even rasp out his assent, Link finally nodded—and heard a sob in the doorway behind him. Turning, he caught a flash of blonde hair as Aryll ran back up the pathway, the hem of a green dress kicking up behind her, and felt a pang of sharp remorse.
I'm sorry, he wanted to call out after her, but couldn't make the words come. He wanted to explain that he didn't know how to do this halfway—how to speak here and nowhere else. If he unburdened himself to her now, then how long until he was spilling his fearful heart out to the princess herself? She didn't need that from him. Nobody did.
"Don't…"
Words felt heavy in his mouth, the memory lingering too long. Only as he blinked did Link discover that tears had gathered in the corners of his eyes, the motion setting them free to fall across his cheeks.
"You didn't like that one, did you?" Ghirahim cooed, tracing the path the tear had taken with a gloved finger. Had he worn those before? "I am so very sorry. Don't tell me that unraveling the tedious mysteries of your mind isn't every bit as satisfying as you always dreamed it would be."
"You…" Link tried and failed again, still thick-tongued. One rope remained now, stretching from Ghirahim's throat to the room's far end—far less than Link had ever hoped to leave him with, but maybe it would hold. More relieving were the first malicious specks heralding the blood moon's peak, finally stirring in the corners of his vision. This was almost over…
Except Ghirahim seemed not to notice or care about either the dwindled number of ropes or the blood moon's rising.
"Could you possibly still want more?" he laughed instead in mock incredulity, hair draping to brush across Link's face as their foreheads touched. His dark eyes burned at the edges like festering wounds, capturing Link's vision. "I suppose no part of our agreement forbids me from unlocking one of your precious memories with no rope cut in return. What further miseries can your mind supply?"
Too many sharp teeth in a thin-lipped grin struck Link with breathless foreboding, and every part of him tensed. Mute, protesting, with no way to reach out for help, Link reached within—and found in the depths of his anger that a newly obtained piece of a soul knew fury all too well.
The small hairs on the back of his arms stood on end.
"What—"
Power thundered through Link, and Ghirahim stepped back quickly, gloved hands leaping back from the electricity that danced beneath his skin. Energy in potential crackled through the air, collecting in Link's fingertips where it would take only their snap to ignite, and green flame burned in wisps around him. Link could feel Urbosa there in all of this, fierce and furious, and the grimace on his face echoed her own.
"Stay away from me," Link snarled, finding his voice at last—or was that Urbosa, too? Stay away from him, Link had almost said.
"Oh, you are a wild thing, aren't you?" Ghirahim murmured, voice thick with bitter hunger. Green and orange firelight clashed across his pale face in eerie contrast as he stared down at Link. "I might have known that you carried a companion with you after all. Loneliness was never the fate of your heroic journey—it is merely the fact of what comes after."
Link's fingers twitched with the desire to unleash all of that gathered energy to rain down on Ghirahim's head. If those hands could stop Link's sword, then let them try to catch the lightning—except even in the depths of his and Urbosa's anger, the strips of spelled fabric fluttering wildly from the final rope made him stop, a thin, reluctant thread of caution winding through him. If Urbosa's Fury wasn't enough to kill Ghirahim, then it would almost certainly free him.
Still, Link kept it held there, electric energy poised in uneasy balance as the malice flew up faster and the blood moon neared its highest point.
"If you are sated with memories of the past, then perhaps I will leave you instead with a vision of the future." Ghirahim's voice came out resonant, his dark eyes devoid of light despite how the small room danced with illumination. "I have seen it all often enough to know how these things play out. On the heels of your victory over my master, that sword you have clung to through the ages will abandon you, her truest loyalty belonging to the battle she was forged for and not the one who wields her. Any companions that have aided you on your journey will scatter to the winds, and in the ennui that follows fulfilling your goddess-given purpose, your fierce spirit will begin to fade, as well… and then you will return to me. That is not a curse or a compulsion, but a promise," Ghirahim added, smiling grimly when Link's head jerked side to side in protest, his smallest finger aching once more as the blood moon hit its peak. "That is the truth of our thread of fate."
"I don't believe you," Link said hoarsely. "It can't have happened that way every time."
"All but the last." Prevented from approaching Link by the sparks still crackling across his skin, Ghirahim blew him a kiss that emerged as a flurry of sharp diamonds, blinding Link's vision, stinging his cheeks. "Look how well that has worked out for us both."
And then there was nothing but a tall, black sword thrust point first into the ground, a single rope with fluttering strips of fabric stretching from its hilt as the final motes of malice faded away. Slowly, Link let the energy clenched inside him dissipate into nothing, Urbosa and her thunder and all his righteous fury fading until Link slumped forward, empty, the air dead and dull around him.
So he'd had a sister.